I was extremely grieved yesterday morning to find in my pocket, just while I was in the agonies of starting hitherward, a
Letter I had written to you two days before, and fancied I had duly posted along with the bunch of others then sent off! Alas, alas, and I had not a moment's
time left me; hardly enough to scribble some German on the cover, whh I think you wd hardly understand.

Well, I got here at any rate, prosperously, tho' after an awful flurry just at starting, the silly maid having taken 35 minutes
to find me a cab instead of 20 which I had given her. We were within 4 minutes of losing it, for all our swift driving. I found Jane looking thin,—poor soul she has been terribly bothered since
I went away;—however, she seems doing well at present, and is cheerfuller than I have seen her this long while. I myself slept
ill last night, in spite of the excellent bed and room (one of the quietest I was ever in); but indeed I expected to sleep
ill: and tonight, if I can manage my dinner, I hope to do better and well. For I am this moment returned from a 3 hours ride, on a most swift nimble horse of Lord A.'s, which I used to call the Kangaroo;1 a really beautiful ride (in the brillt afternoon and silent woods and lanes); I have to write “like distraction” to save the post, Jane sits by me the while.— —
We are a shifting party, Thackeray and Rawlinson (Bagdad) went today; a nice little Frenchwoman (Mrs Craven)2 remains; and here are the wheels of newcomers while I write: a shifting party; with whom I have not much to do beyond looking at them!— Last night I dreamed confusedly
of my good old Mother (all manner of sad nonsense), and of Scotsbrig &c ah me! But I must end, and will soon write again. God bless you all, from my dear Mother downwards.— Ever your affecte / T. Carlyle